


Morphine

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Totally real if you exclude all of it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester breaks his wrist during a show</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morphine

Chester tries to sing his way through the song after he breaks his wrist but it’s hard to when you’re swallowing down your own puke. Eventually he just gives up and hurries off stage.

Brad’s knees are like Jell-O, have been since he saw the singer fall. They’ve all fallen on stage before, but only Chester could manage to hurt himself so badly he can’t speak. He has no idea what’s going on, and when he goes to leave the stage Mike clamps an arm around his waist warningly.

“Gotta smile for the crowd, Brad.”

“But-”

“The medics will take care of him.”

He tries to make out the people moving around in the darkness of the wings whilst Mike reassures the crowd that everything is fine. Brad wants to say that no, everything isn’t fucking fine damn it.

Backstage Chester is shaking as the medics try to strap up his wrist. Every touch is like being stabbed and, eventually, he pulls away from them and shakes his head, “I’ll just hold it up,” he says, and grabs his mic, staggering back onto the stage.

As he passes him Brad tries to get his attention.

“D-don’t talk to me, Brad,” Chester whispers.

Even in the coloured stage lights Brad can see the lump sticking out of Chester’s wrist and the way his hand hangs at an odd angle.

He plays the show all the way through, though, and the crowd goes fucking wild. Brad is foaming at the mouth by the penultimate song. How can they be cheering? How can they be so happy when Chester can barely breathe?

They don’t drag out the last song the way they usually do. And he just grabs a handful of plectrums and flings it carelessly at the crowd, hurries after Chester who is stumbling off stage. He puts a hand on his waist and kisses his cheek, “Jesus,” he murmurs, “You’re freezing.”

“Uh-huh. Do you have morphine?”

“No.” Brad sighs, staring at Chester’s wrist, “You need to get to hospital.”

“Do they have morphine?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then.”

Brad has to pretty much carry him to the car which is waiting outside. The hospital isn’t too far away, but halfway through the ride Chester passes out, leaning heavily against his boyfriend’s chest. Stroking his sweaty hair softly Brad worries his lower lip between his teeth. It’s not like he’s never seen Chester get hurt before, it’s just that every time knocks him sick for days.

Pain killers, x-rays and long explanations to the doctors. Then more pain killers and a bandage wrapped tightly around Chester’s wrist and a sling tied around his chest. Then pain killers for him to take away and Brad stashing them so that he won’t take them all at once.

Back at the hotel Mike is waiting with Mark who has his camera ready as always. Chester flashes his x-rays and smiles a morphine stoned smile. Brad hovers in the background, not wanting to interrupt his little moment in the lime light.

Later, though, in their hotel room, “You should never have played the show.”

“Those people travelled for miles to come see us…”

“It’s not those people I care about.”

Chester’s confused expressions softens and he sighs, “I’m fine, Brad. Bones heal.”

“But what if something worse had happened?”

“It didn’t,” Chester says, kissing him, “It won’t,” kiss, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

Chester smiles, “Okay.”

“…can I sign your cast?”

They both laugh tiredly and after a while Chester relents and digs a Sharpie out of his bag. Brad signs his name then, just on the inside of his wrist, draws a little heart.

“You’re so fucking soppy, dude.”

“Want me to break your other one?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

"Do I get more drugs now?"

Brad just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Not yet."

Ten minutes after they climb into bed Chester whispers, "How about now?"

"I could always break your legs?"

"Night Brad."

"Night Chester," Brad smirks.


End file.
